


Falling

by ConstantWriter85



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America Sam Wilson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Sam Wilson, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantWriter85/pseuds/ConstantWriter85
Summary: Bucky falls, and Sam catches him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 173





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Language, Violence, Gunfire, Near-Death Experience, Trauma, PTSD and Recovery, Discussions of Death and Past Trauma, Guilt, Platonic Fluff

Bucky raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. A well-placed kick sent the door flying off its hinges and he ducked, rolling into the room just as gunfire peppered the wall behind him.

_Fuck, they’re on this level too._

He fired through the desks. Kneecaps exploded and bodies hit the floor, but he was already up and moving by the time they located him. A rifle swung in his direction. Bullets ricocheted off his metal palm, and he snatched the rifle from the man’s hand, breaking his arm in two places.

Arms grappled at his back, trying to pin him. A knife swiped hungrily towards his ribs and Bucky rolled his shoulder, flipping the man over his back and sending him flying across the room with a kick to the solar plexus for good measure.

Over the earpiece, he heard Sam yelp.

“Barnes, where the hell are you—I could use a little help here!”

“Little busy at the moment, Wilson,” he grunted. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Knickers? Who the fuck says that anymore?”

Bucky growled as he raced towards the other side of the building where Sam was. They’d gotten what they came for, now they just needed to get out.

He skidded to a stop as bullets sprayed across the room, one passing close enough to ruffle the hair above his left ear. No less than a dozen Agents were drawn down in front of him.

“Barnes, I’m good, where are you?”

“Ain’t gettin’ to you that way, I’m looking for another way around,” he said, rolling under a desk and scrambling to his feet.

Wilson was his ride out of there. The man was jumpy and annoying, but Bucky had to admit the wings came in handy from time to time.

Especially when you had to make your getaway from the top of an eighty-story building.

Bucky ducked and spun, firing at the Agents from behind cover as he searched for a secondary exit. There were simply too many of them to take head-on. He pulled the pin on a flash-bang and tossed it, skirting the mass as they covered their eyes and fired blindly.

There.

A long hallway stretched alone the north side, dumping out where he knew Wilson was waiting.

He ducked his head and sprinted along the corridor. Arms pumping and heart jackhammering, he’d almost made it to the end when a huge hulk of a man rounded the corner, leveling a .50 cal center mass.

Bucky twisted at the last second, and the slug hit him squarely in the left shoulder, pinging off the metal. It didn’t hurt, but it did knock him off his feet. He rolled as the man racked the gun and fired again, blasting a hole where Bucky’s head had been seconds before.

“Barnes, come on!”

“Just get the hell outta here, Wilson!”

“What?!”

The window was rapidly closing, and Bucky wasn’t about to make Wilson wait around all day for him.

“I’m pinned down—just go!”

“What about you?”

“I’ll figure it out!” He scrabbled to his feet, racing around the corner as he tried to evade the behemoth with the .50 cal. Bucky wasn’t sure what he was going to do—he was completely cut off from Wilson, his only exit straight out through the window to an eighty-story drop.

Salvation came in the form of Sharon Carter.

“Somebody need a ride?”

A helicopter swung into view, and Bucky choked out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m somewhere around the eightieth floor.”

“Somewhere?”

“You see that big window on the east side?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m about to jump out of it.”

“Shit.”

Bucky timed his moment and raced towards the window, firing as he ran. Glass splintered, then shattered. He saw the helicopter swing into view.

He jumped.

Bucky Barnes was a trained sniper, capable of working complex mathematical calculations in his head on the fly. Wind shear, body weight, and distance. Altitude and velocity. Bucky timed the space in between breaths, knowing exactly how hard and how far he needed to jump. His body tensed, his breath stilled, and he launched himself forward in a calculated leap he was ninety nine percent certain would land him safely inside the helicopter.

Except he failed to take into account the behemoth with the .50 cal.

A split second, that’s all it took. The slug hit him in the side, slamming safely into the body armor but unfortunately slamming him off course as well. Pain bloomed in his side as he frantically tried to correct midair.

Time slowed.

It probably only took a split second, but to Bucky it felt like hours. The world slowed, narrowing down. The landing skid loomed in front of him, tantalizingly close as he twisted midair, trying to correct his fall. He couldn’t hear anything except for the sound of his own heartbeat and his own ragged breaths harsh in his ears, and for a second—just a second—he saw himself reaching out towards a gloved hand, high above a rocky ravine as a train raced onward.

_Steve!_

He was so close. His fingers brushed against the skid, the painted metal slick against his fingers.

But not close enough to grasp.

_Bucky!_

He heard Steve’s voice, but that was impossible—Steve was dead.

“Barnes!”

Those voices were real, a strange overlap of both Sharon and Wilson as they cried out to him. Bucky’s arm stretched and his back arched, his fingers barely grazing the skid for one heart stopping moment.

Then he was falling.

***

Sam saw the shatter of glass, and he saw Bucky fall.

Down and down and down, eighty stories flashing by as he raced towards sudden death. Sam didn’t think, didn’t even breathe.

He just flew.

Tucking his wings, he fired the thrusters, propelling him down towards the falling super soldier. He thought he’d heard Bucky scream at first, but he wasn’t screaming now. The man was frantically trying to right himself, even though the notion was a hopeless grasp at control. The body’s involuntary muscle response to freefall.

It would do nothing to save him.

Sam flew, his wings tilting, the edges catching a slipstream as he shot gracefully towards Bucky. Sam felt anything other than graceful, though. His mind had been catapulted back nearly a dozen years, back to when he’d seen another partner fall.

Riley.

Riley had fallen, just like Bucky was, now. Sam could still see his partner’s pale body as it dropped, twisting and tumbling in midair as he hurtled towards the ground.

_No! I can’t let it happen again, not—not Barnes. Not again. I can’t let him fall._

Sam tucked his wings and dove.

Bucky was only a hundred feet from the ground when Sam caught him, grabbing him around the middle and swooping upwards as fast as the wings would allow. Bucky choked and clutched at him, his arms and legs wrapping around Sam so tightly he could hardly breathe.

Sam back winged and set them down on the ground. They both collapsed against each other, falling in a heap on the pavement. Worriedly, he looked down at Bucky.

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and Sam could still feel Bucky’s heart thudding impossibly fast against his own chest. Sam had to pry Bucky’s hands off of him.

“Hey—it all right, we’re okay. We’re down now.”

Bucky opened his eyes and looked dazedly around the parking lot. He was shaking. Gasping. That was okay though, because Sam felt a little unsteady himself. For a second there, Bucky’s features had shifted, and he’d been convinced he was staring at Riley.

The two men stared at each other for several long minutes, but Sam had the feeling Bucky wasn’t seeing him at all. Sam’s brow creased as his training kicked in.

“Hey man, you good? You hit?”

Bucky numbly shook his head. Sam had seen the hit he’d taken, but there wasn’t any blood so he didn’t push. Bucky seemed like he was on the borderline of slipping into shock. Sam tried to place a hand on his shoulder, to say something reassuring, but Bucky shrugged him off.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped. His voice was like gravel.

Bucky stumbled to his feet. All his defenses were up, his eyes a million miles away.

“Barnes, I think you should sit down.”

Bucky just growled at him, something sounding like the word fine, although he surely was not. He was pale and still shaking, his legs barely able to support him as he climbed into the waiting vehicle. Sam shrugged off his wings and climbed in after him, casting a worried glance as Bucky closed his eyes and curled against the door, wrapping his arms around himself as if they were the only thing holding him together.

***

Sam couldn’t sleep.

That night he’d pulled out his old service album, paging through the photos. Smiling at the ones of him and Riley, that sandy-haired idiot that had been his brother in all but blood. Laughing at the memories they’d shared, and shedding more than a few tears as he remembered Riley’s fate.

A fate he’d relived today, although the outcome had been drastically different.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Bucky falling. Then it was Riley, the images superimposed over one another like a double negative. Two partners, one he had saved, and one he didn’t.

Sam saw Riley hit the ground, again and again. He saw the broken body. He heard the screams that he hadn’t even realized were coming from his own mouth.

Bucky had fallen too. He’d fallen but he never hit the ground, because Sam had caught him in time. He remembered feeling the impact of Bucky’s body, the heavy weight in his arms and the limbs that clutched at him, wrapping Sam in a vicelike embrace. He remembered the panicked breaths in his ear, the heart frantically pounding against his ribcage, telling him Bucky was alive—alive because Sam had caught him.

Sam had been given a second chance, and this time he had caught him.

Sam trudged into the kitchen. He was bone tired, but sleep just wasn’t coming tonight. What he needed was—

“Hey.”

He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Damn super soldiers, lurking in the dark and saying casual things like _hey_ when you least expect it. He cursed and turned around. Bucky was sitting at the counter, a half-empty bottle of bourbon and two glasses sitting in front of him.

Now, Sam knew Bucky couldn’t get drunk. Bucky, of course, knew it as well. It was something he only did when he was very upset, and the fact that he was sitting there, drinking in the dark, was a testament to how much the day’s events had rattled him.

Bucky gave Sam a sideways glance, and pushed one of the glasses in his direction. He never talked very much, but this time the message was clear—

_Knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep either. Go on, have a seat._

Sam took the proffered glass and filled it with a healthy amount of the amber liquid. It burned going down, but it warmed his belly and eased his nerves a bit. He sat on the stool next to Bucky, and for a while, they just sat in silence.

Sam didn’t say something dumb, like— _you want to talk about it_ , or _are you okay—_ he knew very well that neither of them were at the moment. And if Bucky wanted to talk about it, he would do so when he damn well pleased.

Bucky fiddled with the lip of his glass, his metal fingers making soft clinking sounds that were strangely pleasant. Sam poured them each another and was taking a sip when Bucky finally spoke.

“Why don’t you pants catch on fire?”

Sam choked, the liquor burning his nostrils as he sputtered.

“What?”

“Your pants. Why don’t they catch on fire? The wings’re powered by three miniaturized jet engines, that’s what—over a thousand pounds of thrust? That’s almost fifteen hundred degrees, add in the afterburner you’re talkin’ about well over two thousand…why don’t your pants catch on fire? Is it an experimental fabric, or is there a shield—”

“Man, you’re an asshole.”

Bucky looked down, frowning at the counter as if he hadn’t considered that possibility before.

_He’s actually serious._

Bucky started to mumble an apology, but Sam cut him off. “You almost died today, Barnes. You fell almost eighty stories—they would’ve been scraping you off the pavement with a spatula, and you want to talk about _why my pants don’t catch on fire?”_

Bucky stared at the counter. Sam snorted and shook his head, and he stood to leave.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

It was so quiet Sam almost didn’t hear it, but he did. Bucky was fiddling with his glass again, clenching and unclenching his metal hand. Sam wondered if it was a grounding technique.

“You caught me,” he whispered. “Steve didn’t. And I know it wasn’t his fault, but I—thank you. I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

Sam blew out a breath. “S’not your fault. It was traumatic…for both of us. You reacted as you needed to. I get that.” He sighed and sat back down. He took another sip from his glass, rolling the liquid in his mouth as he chose his next words.

“For a minute there…while you were falling…I thought you were Riley.” Bucky stared at him. Sam rubbed at the fingerprints on his glass, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t catch him that day. Riley was already dead—I know that. The RPG damn-near cut him in half…he probably never felt a thing. I did, though. When he hit the ground, I _felt_ it.”

“I didn’t, though. Hit.”

“No,” Sam said softly. “I caught you.”

“I’m sorry…about Riley.”

Sam glanced at him. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago.”

“So was my fall from the train, but it still hurts.”

Sam thought about the truth of that, and nodded. Bucky was quiet for a moment, staring into his bourbon glass like it held the secrets of the universe.

“I saw Steve today, when I was…falling. I thought I was back in Austria. I could even feel the biting cold of the wind…felt like it was gonna shred right through my skin. I saw the ground rushing up to meet me, and all I could think was—thank god there’s no snow.”

He laughed softly, and Sam smirked. Bucky had a black sense of humor, but he was right. Unlike a snowy ravine, a freefall down to the pavement had a pretty definitive outcome.

“I thought I was dead. Watching it happen, all over again—I didn’t know how to process that. I still felt like I was falling, even after you put me on the ground. I’m sorry I was a jerk to you.”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Though please, if you feel the need to jump out of a building any time soon, give a guy a little heads up, first.”

“I would’ve made it.”

“I’m sure.”

Bucky sat up straighter, looking outraged that Sam would even question his abilities. There was a sparkle of mirth in his blue eyes, though, and Sam realized with a start that Bucky was actually joking around with him.

“No really—I had it. If it wasn’t for that asshole with the .50 cal—”

“Yeah, how is that, anyway?” Sam reached for Bucky’s shirt, surprised when he actually let him lift the hem up. The entire right side of Bucky’s rib cage was black and blue, bruising from the impact of the bullet hitting the body armor. Bucky probably had a couple broken ribs as well, but if they were hurting him, he didn’t let it show.

“It’ll be fine.”

Sam hummed and let the shirt drop. “You know, Sharon was ready to punch you in the face when we got back.”

Bucky laughed, the sound warming Sam more than the liquor. “All right, all right. I get it. No more jumping out of buildings.”

“For at least two weeks.”

“Deal.”

Sam smiled back at him. For the first time in a long while, after everything they’d been through, he felt as if he—and maybe Bucky too—was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For catching me.”

“Anytime.”

Bucky stood, clearing their glasses and placing them in the dishwasher. He turned and started to walk away, but Sam called after him.

“Coolant.”

Bucky turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“The thrusters have aftercoolers, brings the temp down. That’s why my pants don’t catch on fire—I appreciate the concern, though.” Sam smiled, looking sideways over at Bucky. “You know, Buck, you ever want to give those wings a try, just let me know.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m plenty happy right here, with two feet firmly on the ground. Flying’s your thing.”

“Well, any time you feel like you’re falling, just holler. I’ll catch you.”

Bucky smiled. “Deal.”


End file.
